UT from the injur'd Canvas, KNELLER, ftrike
Thefe Lines too faint: the Picture is not like.
Exalt thy Thought, and try thy Toil again:
Dreadful in Arms, on LANDEN's glorious Plain
Place ORMOND's Duke: impendent in the Air
Let His keen Sabre, Comet-like, appear,

Where-e'er it points, denouncing Death: below
Draw routed Squadrons, and the num'rous Foe
Falling beneath, or flying from His Blow:

'Till weak with Wounds, and cover'd o'er with Blood, Which from the Patriot's Breaft in Torrents flow'd,

He faints: His Steed no longer hears the Rein;
But stumbles o'er the Heap, His Hand had flain.
And now exhaufted, bleeding, pale He lyes;
Lovely, fad Object! in His half-clos'd Eyes
Stern Vengeance yet, and Hoftile Terror ftand:
His Front yet threatens; and His Frowns command:
The Gallick Chiefs their Troops around Him call;
Fear to approach Him, tho' they see Him fall,

Led 59%

O KNELLER, could Thy Shades and Lights express The perfect Hero in that glorious Dress;

Ages to come might ORMOND's Picture know;
And Palms for Thee beneath His Lawrels grow:
In spite of Time Thy Work might ever shine;
Nor HOMER'S Colours laft fo long as Thine.

Atque in Amore mala hæc proprio, fummeque fecundo
Inveniuntur

Lucret. Lib. 4:

WHAT can I fay, what Arguments can prove

My Truth, what Colours can defcribe my Love;

If it's Excefs and Fury be not known,

In what Thy CBL1A has already done?

Thy Infant Flames, whilst yet they were conceal'd
In tim❜rous Doubts, with Pity I beheld;
With easie Smiles difpell'd the filent Fear,
That durft not tell Me, what I dy'd to hear:
In vain I strove to check my growing Flame,
Or fhelter Paffion under Friendship's Name:
You faw my Heart, how it my Tongue bely'd;
And when You prefs'd, how faintly I deny'd

E'er

E'er Guardian Thought cou'd bring it's fcatter'd Aid; E'er Reason cou'd fupport the doubting Maid; My Soul furpriz'd, and from her self disjoin'd, Left all Referve, and all the Sex behind: From your Command her Motions She receiv'd; And not for Me, but You, She breath'd and liv'd.

But ever bleft be CYTHERE A's Shrine; And Fires Eternal on Her Altars fhine; Since Thy dear Breast has felt an equal Wound; Since in Thy Kindness my Desires are crown'd. By Thy each Look, and Thought, and Care, 'tis fhown, Thy Joys are center'd All in Me Alone;

And fure I am, Thou woud'ft not change this Hour

For all the White ones, Fate has in it's Pow'r.

Yet thus belov'd, thus loving to Excefs,
Yet thus receiving and returning Blifs,

In this great Moment, in this golden Now,
When ev'ry Trace of What, or When, or How
Shou'd from my Soul by raging Love be torn,
And far on swelling Seas of Rapture born;
A melancholy Tear afflicts my Eye;
And my Heart labours with a fudden Sigh:
Invading Fears repel my Coward Joy ;
And Ills foreseen the prefent Bliss destroy..

Poor as it is, This Beauty was the Cause, That with first Sighs Your panting Bofom rofe:

But

But with no Owner Beauty long will ftay,
Upon the Wings of Time born fwift away:

Pass but fome fleeting Years, and These poor Eyes,
(Where now without a Boaft fome Luftre lyes)
No longer shall their little Honours keep;
Shall only be of use to read, or weep:

And on this Forehead, where your Verse has said,
The LOVES delighted, and the GRACES play'd;
Infulting Age will trace his cruel Way,

And leave fad Marks of his destructive Sway.

Mov'd by my Charms, with them your Love may cease, And as the Fuel finks, the Flame decrease: Or angry Heav'n may quicker Darts prepare; And Sickness strike what Time awhile wou'd fpare. Then will my Swain His glowing Vows renew; Then will His throbbing Heart to Mine beat true; When my own Face deters Me from my Glass ; And KNELLER only fhows, what CELIA was.

Fantastic FAME may found her wild Alarms: Your Country, as You think, may want your Arms. You may neglect, or quench, or hate the Flame, Whose Smoak too long obfcur'd your rifing Name: And quickly cold Indiff'rence will ensue ;

When You Love's Joys thro' Honour's Optic view.

Then CELIA's loudest Pray'r will prove too weak, To this abandon'd Breaft to bring You back;

When

When my loft Lover the tall Ship ascends,
With Musick Gay, and Wet with Jovial Friends:
The tender Accents of a Woman's Cry

Will pafs unheard, will unregarded die ;
When the rough Seaman's louder Shouts prevail;
When fair Occafion fhows the fpringing Gale;
And Int'reft guides the Helm ; and Honour fwells the Sayl.

Some wretched Lines from this neglected Hand, May find my Hero on the Foreign Strand,

Warm with new Fires, and pleas'd with new Command:
While She who wrote 'em, of all Joy bereft,

To the rude Cenfure of the World is left;
Her mangl❜d Fame in barb'rous Paftime loft,
The Coxcomb's Novel, and the Drunkard's Toaft.

But nearer Care (O pardon it!) fupplies
Sighs to my Breast, and Sorrow to my Eyes.
Love, Love himself (the only Friend I have)
May scorn his Triumph, having bound his Slave.
That Tyrant God, that restless Conqueror
May quit his Pleasure, to affert his Pow'r;
Forfake the Provinces that bless his Sway,
To vanquish Those which will not yet obey.

Another Nymph with fatal Pow'r may rise,
To damp the finking Beams of CELIA's Eyes;
With haughty Pride may hear Her Charms confeft;
And fcorn the ardent Vows that I have bleft: